Start Again
by Coolkwekiwikween
Summary: Alice Kirkland has to tutor all star varsity everything Alfred Jones. He seems nice enough, but for some reason, she can't bring herself to like him. Could he be the same Alfred from her childhood? Okay, here is the official layout for this story: AmericaXfem!England (but you can't honestly tell from her personality), 2P!Nations, Alt!Verse...so far.
1. Chapter 1: Bender

Bender

"I'm tired of your crap, Alfred," I spat, glaring into the cold blue eyes of the boy I used to call my best friend. His face, usually glowing with energy and happiness was now weary and unreadable. Sighing, he turned away from me, slowly walking back down his street.

"I'm sorry, Al," he mumbled, his voice low and filled with sadness. "I didn't want it to end this way. I just thought that you of all people-."

"Me?" Angry tears jumped to my eyes. "Alfred, I thought you enjoyed my company! We've been best mates since before we were born! Remember you said, I…I-!"I choked back a sob. "And now you want nothing to do with me? I don't understand, how could you be so-."

"So what?" Alfred whirled around to face me, a dangerous glint in his glare. "_Alfred, don't do this, Alfred, don't do that, Alfred, I'm telling mum on you, Alfred, listen to me_! Dammit Alice…" The anger became a sympathetic plea as he took my hand in his much larger ones. "I'm sick of being treated like your puppet. Like I'm some extension of you, like I'm just a tool. Dammit, I'm human too, ya know? When we were younger I didn't mind so much." He grinned wryly at the memory. "I was new to the neighborhood, I kept getting chased by that creepy chick, and you protected me. I'm grateful for what you did for me all those years ago, but now you won't let me live. Why can't I decide who my friends are? Why can't I decide what games we play, where we go, how to dress? I'm in middle school but it's as if I'm still a child in your eyes, Alice."

I gawked at him. "I…I just thought…you never told me," my weak protest unable to undo seven years' worth of the damage my obliviousness had done to our friendship. I sniffed, making my heart a stone as I prepared for his response to my next and last question. "…how long have you felt this way…?"

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet my pleading gaze. "…since the fight," he whispered. I stiffened. I remembered that day all too well, when I was eleven and he was only ten. My mother had brought me a tea set all the way from London when she returned from a business trip that summer. "Only share it with someone you trust," She told me. "Someone you treasure more than even this china set." I had plenty of girl friends to invite for tea, Elizabeta, Francine, even Angelique. But I knew that the one I trusted the most was Alfred. I showed him the beautiful blue and white lacquer, beaming up at him for approval. Yet his disinterest, apparent in his face at the sight of a tea set instead of something more 'exciting' than a model airplane hurt me. I shouted at him, accusing him of being a bad friend, and he yelled back, screaming about the stupidity of tea parties and stupid girly things like them. In my rage, I poured my cup of iced peppermint tea over his head, and in turn, he seized my tea cup and hurled it into the pond in my backyard. It was the only fight we'd ever had. Even after he fished the now chipped tea cup out of the pond, even after he apologized, even after we swore never to fight again, I felt in my heart that it would never be the same.

As he turned away from me, I realized how wrong I had been. I wanted to shout, to run up to him and grab him by the arm and lead him back to me like I had when we were younger. I wanted him to grin in that stupid way of his and sing 'Just kidding, Alice!', so I could call him a stupid twit and we could be friends again. But he didn't turn around. And he didn't look back, even when I fell to my knees and sobbed.

"Please…don't go…"

-END-CHAPTER-ONE-


	2. Chapter 2: Idiots Don't Go To Space

Idiots Don't Go to Space

"Kirkland, Arthur,"

"Present,"

I heard the quiet giggles from around the classroom, and noting the surprise on Dr. Vargas' face, I sunk down into my seat, eyes rolling. "Twits," I murmured under my breath.

Thanks to my dearest brothers, I was known throughout Georgetown Preparatory School as Arthur Kirkland, prepubescent Poindexter of the freshmen class. My name is ALICE Kirkland. I'm the only girl of all of my parents' children, and the youngest. Disappointed by the lack of another younger brother, my arsehole dearest siblings took to calling me Arthur from an early age. For the first three years of my life, I myself believed that I was named Arthur, and told my preschool teacher such, who suggested encouraging my desire to become male (-_-) to my oblivious parents, shocking my mother and amusing my father. As a result, my brothers were forbidden to call me outside of my name, but of course it didn't stop them from telling everyone else that I was in fact a boy named Arthur. At first, it bothered me quite a lot. I resent being told who or what I am by anyone under any circumstances. Yet correcting and denying and having to prove my true gender became increasingly frustrating, so I gave up. If someone asked my name, I'd tell them it was Alice, but since most people didn't care much to ask, Arthur is who I remained. There was only one person who actually asked me my name and believed me…but he was long gone. Why was I even thinking about him anyway?

The remainder of the period was rather uneventful.

History, while my favorite subject, couldn't hold my attention today. See, there's this…problem that apparently, only I have the ability to rectify. Complete rubbish in my opinion. If the tosser can't make the time in his busy schedule hurling balls around to read a damned text book it's hardly my responsibility to make him hit the books. His name is Jones, something or other, but he's an absolute chuffer. Sure he's tall and blonde and quite attractive, but I can't bring myself to fawn over his stupidity like the rest of my schoolmates do. Yesterday, my academic advisor called me into his office for what I assumed to be a discussion about my courses for the upcoming semester. What I discovered upon my arrival…

"Arthur! Just the wunderkind I wanted to see," Mr. Belschmidt smirked. In the room with him were two other people, Coach Carriedo, and a tall, lanky blonde boy whom I did not recognize.

"Sir," I gritted my teeth, already knowing my corrections would be in vain. "My name's not-"

"See? What did I tell you, Antonio, he's a Brit so he must be ȕber genius or whatever. Like that Chinese kid Coocoo!" I mentally face palmed. Did he really just butcher Kiku's name that badly? I didn't even think about the obvious racism in his…can one even consider that a complement?

Exhaling, I forced myself to smile. "Mr. Belschmidt," I interrupted. "I was under the impression that you sent for me because you had something important to speak with me about?"

He wasn't listening.

Instead he was yammering off to Coach Carriedo about the last football match being held at Johns Hopkins University. I turned my attention to the other person in the room. He was quiet, staring at me in such an unnerving manner that I had to look away. His eyes were bright blue, filled with determination and…recognition? I glared back at him and he quickly shifted his gaze. He looked terribly familiar. The way he stood, the unruly cowlick that refused to travel in the same direction as the rest of his hair, the way his eyes betrayed his every thought…it was almost as if…but it couldn't be him. No, Alfred has disappeared from my life long ago. I'm sure that I would recognize him if I ever saw him again, and if I ever saw him again I'd be sure to give him a good punch in the throat.

"This is Alfred Jones," I snapped from my reverie at Mr. Belschmidt's voice. "He's a wunderkind too, except he's actually awesome, 'cause he makes our school look awesome. Sports bring in money, what do academics do?" He spat, and I looked away, disgusted. "Who needs thinking when you have action?" My useless advisor's frightening smile quickly shifted into a bored frown. "Mein stupid brother disagrees, unfortunately. Ludwig insists that Jones here maintain a cumulative GPA of at least a 2.5 in order to continue playing for our varsity football team. Without him, our NCAA division teams are nothing! And that's every sport, yah? We lose Jones, and boom! Unawesome. And that, you little brain strudel, is why I called you here."

I raised a reasonably sized eyebrow (mum insists I get them waxed, but I just know it'll hurt like the bullocks) at him. "I'm sorry," I snorted. "I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at sir."

Mr. Belschmidt cursed in German and rolled his eyes. "Mein Gott, for such a genius you sure lack common sense. Here, I'll spell it out for you. You tutor Jones, you both earn some credits and our school stays on top of its game, literally. If you don't, I'll butcher your university recommendations." I squawked indignantly, and Mr. Belschmidt grinned evilly, recognizing defeat when he saw it. "I knew you'd see things my way, Arthur. Such a sensible boy. Maybe one day you'll grow some balls and become almost as awesome as me!"

And with that, Alfred Jones and I were ushered out of the office, grimacing at the crazed cackling of our principal's older brother.

We stood in the hallway for a few awkward moments, unsure of what to do next. Alfred nervously cleared his throat, and gave me the biggest, cheesiest grin I think I've ever seen.

"Well," He grinned. "That was definitely something else. I don't usually go to him for my classes. 'Matter of fact, I actually just see-."

"I'm Kirkland." I interrupted, avoiding confusing the oaf with my real name. I held out my hand and he in turn, shook it. I started. _Those hands._ I pulled away abruptly, glaring into his eyes. "Have we met?"

He scrutinized me, the cogs turning in his brain practically visible as he searched for a memory of my face. "Hm…I can't say we have…you do look awfully familiar though. Ah well," He grinned, looking me directly in the eyes. "The name's Alfred F. Jones! Captain of the varsity soccer, baseball, lacrosse, football, swim, track, and wrestling team. You've probably heard of me," He grinned, and I was reminded of the stupid grin of that stupid boy so long ago who just so happened to share the same stupid name. I frowned. I couldn't put my finger on why, maybe it was the fact that he was oozing with git, or maybe it was because he reminded me of Alfred. In any case, I knew I didn't like the tosser. So without another word, I stalked away, leaving a confused and dejected Captain Varsity in my wake.


	3. Chapter 3: Oh, That's How It Is?

**Author's Note:** I don't usually bother my readers with my random thoughts or whatever, but I just wanted to thank everyone who's read or reviewed my story so far. It's been up for less than twenty-four hours, and I've already had about 60 ish views! The reviews have been extremely encouraging as well, but please, if I suck, let me know. My feelings will not be hurt. Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, I realize Georgetown Prep is an all male school, but for my intents and purposes, its gonna be coed. I've also included a university preparation section that translates to grades 11 through "14" or a sophmore in college. It's weird, I know, but when I drew my concept art I gave the characters these amazing uniforms, and I just couldn't resist. So when I call Alice a freshman, in reality, she's more like a junior in high school. Alfred is also a "freshman". Try and wrap your head around the idea. My awkward Tracyverse.

Oh, That's How It Is?

240-677-1234:

I 4got: vrsty bball 2.

Me:

Er…who is this and how did you get my number?

240-677-1234:

Oops LLS. Itz me, Alfred. U r tutorn me 2moro rite

Me:

…unfortunately.

The Oaf:

K kewl. Jst makn sure :D

Me:

How the bloody hell did you get my number, Jones? And please, autocorrect is your friend. Use it.

The Oaf:

LLS Dude ur hil! Wats autocorrect? Lyk on a ifone? And Bellman gave it 2 meh.

Me:

…damn him. Oh alright. But do you have any idea what time it is? It's eleven o'clock at night Alfred. Get some sleep.

The Oaf:

Aw LLS but I wana tlk 2 u D:

Me:

Goodnight you prat. If you doze off tomorrow I'll beat you with a maths textbook.

The Oaf:

LLS! Kk, fyn, gnite Artie

Me:

Listen to me, you f-….*exhales*

The Oaf:

XD

Me:

Arse. That's not my name, dammit.

The bloody twit. It took all of my energy not to demand that Belschmidt end this tutoring arrangement then and there. How dare he give out my personal telly without my consent? Wait. How the bloody hell did he even have it? My blood boiling, I downed a few Excedrin and prepared for a restless night.

* * *

General POV

"Hullo, mum. Yes, I'm quite alright, just missed you's all. How's papa?" Alice smiled warmly down at the review sheets she'd spent the morning preparing for her tutoring session with that insufferable boy. It was only three in the afternoon, but she knew that her mother in London would gladly spare a few hours each night to hear her daughter's voice. Though her career demanded that she make frequent trips overseas, Mrs. Kirkland always found the time to check on her dear poppet. After Alice's oldest brother Jonathan found a job with the United Nations in New York City, Alice's father and her other brothers moved back to the United Kingdom, switching over with her mother every so often. Mr. Kirkland had found a permanent position in the Department for Transport, and had arranged for the entire family to live together in England (with the exception of Jonathan, who could take care of himself) after Alice finished university.

"I had that dream again,"Alice bit her lip, checking her watch. "Er, no mum, I'm just fine. There's just…well, its this boy. No, no, definitely not! He's such a twat I can't even…yes, my language, I'm sorry…mum! 'Swounds, mum… he just reminds me of him. Yeah. Same name and everything. It better not be. I still haven't forgiven him for what he did. …yes, I love you too. Kiss papa and Collin and Oliver for me. 'tah,"

She hung up, and sighed as she mentally prepared herself for the dreaded tutoring session.

Alice was struck with a thought. She quickly flew under her desk and proceeded to rifle through a clear container filled to the brim with papers. Finding what she was looking for, she settled back on her haunches, contemplating what she held in her hand. It was an old, slightly faded photograph she'd had hidden under stacks of papers and books. In the center was a young girl, of about eight years old with her arm around a boy with a bright smile, and a single unruly lock of dirty blonde hair that refused to stay down. "Ugh…it couldn't possibly be anyone else," Alice groaned, pocketing the photograph. "If he recognizes it, I'll know for sure if its him or not. I shouldn't jump to conclusions based on a few…similarities." And with a huff, she grabbed her review sheets and headed down to the IRLC.

* * *

"You're late, Jones."

"Dude! I'm so sorry. I got hungry, so I jogged down to Mickey D's for a few burgers," Alfred was excitable as ever, still bouncing on his toes in anticipation of another workout, a large McDonald's bag in his hand, and no school work. With all of the junk food he eats, where the hell does he get the energy to be so active? I sighed. This is going to be every bit as horrible as I felt it would be. "Oh, yeah, don't think I forgot about you, Artie!" He grinned, tossing me an Angus burger and a bag of large fries. I grimaced, holding the burger, slimy with grease with two fingers. I'm not much of a fast food person on a good day, but I had neglected getting grub while I was making his review sheets. Oh, well. One burger couldn't hurt me right?

I smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Alfred. But don't call me 'Artie', okay?" He looked up from what appeared to be his fourth burger (oh gods), and…well, I think he spoke, but I couldn't understand a bloody word coming out of his mouth. "Err…never mind. Let's get started, shall we?" I laid out the review sheets in front of him, in subject order. He continued to munch his burger, and stuffed a few more fries into his already overly capacitated mouth, all the while staring up at me with those bright blue eyes of his. I think I know how his food felt now. I cleared my throat. "Um, Jones, are you almost finished eating? I'd like to start soon; I've got a paper due in history on Tuesday."

He checked his bag. "I've got one more burger left. But I guess I can wait until we finish," he burped, at least having the decency to look embarrassed. He propped his feet up on the table, glancing over the papers in front of him. "So…um, what's all this?" He was staring at an elementary calculus worksheet I'd included in his maths packet.

"It's what we're doing in maths at the moment. Remember we're reviewing conic sections?"

"Sonic what?" I sighed. This was going to be a challenge.

We had been working for a few hours when I remembered the photograph in my pocket. Working with Alfred was so natural; it was strange. He was eager to learn, caught on to maths and physics quite quickly, and seemed to do fine in research. His real problem, I discovered, was his in ability to focus on things he didn't find interesting. That and his terrible English. While he took a short nap (believe me, I didn't give him permission, but the idiot wouldn't get up, insisting he had an alarm set) I made a note for myself to make him some critical thinking problems, and spelling, and a few essay prompts. I pulled the photograph of Alfred and I out of my pocket, and compared the two boys. My mouth formed a thin line, and I frowned. No doubt about it, Captain Varsity and Alfred were in fact the same person. I don't know why I didn't see it before honestly. I guess I always had this idealistic vision of what I would do if I ever did meet him again, and it involved a wide range of events, from running up and embracing him, to coshing him upside the head, but none of them involved watching him sleep after a long day of studying.

"…it wasn't supposed to end this way, huh," I mumbled, flicking the stubborn cowlick of my old mate Alfred. I sighed, staring out of the window overlooking Bethesda. It was a beautiful city. All the rich old folks in the metropolitan area lived here, and the city was a breeding ground for chuggers as a result. The only reason I was living among them was because of my parents' jobs. Like almost all of the students at this school, I was a child of ambassadors, wealthy people put in certain countries to keep tabs on what was going around. But why was Alfred here? Last I had heard of him, his father was a small business owner, and his mother stayed at home. Certainly his father's business hadn't become so successful in the last five years that he could afford a place like Georgetown Preparatory. But it was America, after all, a land of fairy tales and fast money. Something like that, anyway.

"…I haven't seen her in years." I started, nearly falling out of my seat at the sound of Alfred's voice. He was studying the photograph intently, on his face a mixture of fondness and regret. I snatched the picture away from him, stuffing it into my binder.

"Bloody git! You were fast asleep not five minutes ago!" I hissed, somehow managing to keep my composure, even though it was evident that the blood rushing to my cheeks wasn't just my imagination. Alfred looked up at me, confused, sleep still in his eyes. He was quite adorable in this state, and that realization didn't help my embarrassment a tad. "Meet back here, same time tomorrow after class. And don't dare be late again!" and with that, I ran from the library.

A part of me was relieved at knowing he was my long lost best friend. But then again, he was long lost. And that brought me more sadness than relief.


	4. Chapter 4: Some Days

**Author's note: **Okay, I turned into one of those writers who writes a note before the beginning of each chapter. I promise it won't be like that for long. Promise. Just know that the next few weeks will be extremely busy because of graduation, finals, prom, etc. But I'll update again as soon as I'm able. Part of the reason for this delay in updates is because I wrote two versions of Chapter Four. One on my computer and the other on my flash drive. I'm having trouble deciding which one to use. But I ultimately know where I want chapter four to go in the end, so I don't think it matters. Here's the combined version. It's about to take a twist for the weird.

P.S.- This contains some language and slurs, which you can thank Romano and Gilbert for, as usual.

Some Days

"Are you mad at me?" I looked up. Alfred Jones stood before me, a distressed expression on his face. "I'm real sorry about looking at your picture…it's just…well, I knew that girl."

"Oh, really," I stared back down at my history paper. It was on the American Revolution from the perspective of Great Britain. "I did, as well."

Alfred started, his eyes widening with hope. "Y-you did? Wow! What a coincidence! She was like, my best friend when I was a kid. We always played together, and she was like a big sister to me." Sadness flashed for a moment behind his eyes, but as quickly as I'd noticed it, it had gone. "How do you know her?"

This was it. This was the moment I'd pictured in my head for all of these years since he'd abandoned me. I'd finally give Alfred F. Jones a piece of my mind. "BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-."

"Damned thing," I groaned, smacking my alarm clock off of my nightstand. Rays of blinding sunlight shone through between the blinders of my dorm room window. How long had I been asleep? All I remembered was leaving the library after…ah. Right. Today is Sunday, in other words, another teach-Alfred-how-to-read day. And last night, last night was our first tutoring session. I pushed myself up, throwing an arm across my face. He'd seen the picture. And he recognized me. Well, no, he'd recognized the girl in the photograph. To him I was still Arthur 'Artie' Kirkland, super nerd, which was probably all for the best anyway. I mean, what am I supposed to do now? Hamlet had more motivation to put his thoughts into actions than I. Hamlet! I sighed deeply, and yanked my bed clothes back over my head. To be or not to be, that was the question, the question which I wasn't entirely sure I didn't know the answer to.

* * *

So," Gilbert Belschmidt leaned back in his seat, fiddling with the cross pendant that hung around his neck. "Do you think this will really work?"

Around the table sat several men and women clad in business attire, their faces gaunt and severe. At the head of the long table sneered, using a baton to adjust his spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, believe me," his harsh Germanic accent short and precise. "We are but one step away from victory."

* * *

All day I found myself thinking about my dream last night. I couldn't believe he recognized the photograph. He still didn't know who I really was, but he had remembered! Part of me was impressed, the other part annoyed. Our reunion hadn't gone at all as planned. Maybe I'll grow my hair out again, yes, then I'd look exactly as I had when-.

"Kirkland!" I snapped back to reality, greeted by my classmates' snickers and the annoyed expression on Mr. Vargas' face. "You better have a fucking good reason for chit chatting with your imaginary friends DURING MY FUCKING CLASS!"

I gulped. Mr. Vargas wasn't known for his patience or cheery disposition. I hadn't realized that I'd been thinking out loud again. I heard that he came from a family of good natured Italian farmers, and while his brother, Dr. Feliciano Vargas could easily fit this description, my quick tempered foreign language teacher did not. After class I apologized sheepishly, but in the process of mentally preparing for the next half hour of shouting that would ensue, I was informed that I was to report to Mr. Belschmidt's office immediately. The greater of two evils avoided, I all but flew to Guidance.

The door to the office was shut when I arrived. It wasn't an abnormal occurrence; any room uncommon to the public locked automatically during the school day, and could only be opened with school issued key cards, however, Mr. Belschmidt had been expecting me. Why did he leave his door locked? As I stood back from the door, I noticed that not only was the office inaccessible, but completely empty. No receptionist clicking away at the keyboard, no prospective students waiting for a meeting, no student aides carrying stacks of scheduling documents, nothing. It was all very strange.

I began to feel an ominous ball of anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach. I made to back away from the door, when…

"Artie!" I turned round, and who should I see bounding toward me with all the exuberance of a Great Dane puppy. You guessed it. Alfred's annoying laugh cut the tension in the air like a sharpened blade. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. His presence calmed me slightly, but was quickly replaced by flashbacks of my dream. Oh gods.

"I told you," I growled, attempting to banish the growing blush on my face. "Don't call me that, you twit." No matter how ferocious I made my face, his idiotic grin never faltered.

"Aw, you're no fun man," he pouted. With a flourish, he smacked me in the face with a small, but weighty stack of papers.

"Bloody git! Are you mental?" I grabbed my face, checking for blood. "That really hurt!"

His face fell, and immediately, he dropped his things and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Come here," He carefully pulled my hands away from my face. "Let me check it out." His hands were surprisingly gentle, and for a moment I flashed back to a memory from my youth. "Al, lemme help you," his big blue eyes were filled with concern as he held out his small hands to me. Frozen to the spot, I stiffened as he leaned toward my nose. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he checked my nostrils (weird…) and prodded the bridge of my nose for tenderness.

"Ah!" I winced, smacking away his hands. Despite my rejection, his cheesy grin returned as he gave me thumbs up.

"Well, it's not broken, which is good. I didn't know papers could hurt so much though," I rolled my eyes, unsurprised by his lack of regret. Shuffling through his scattered belongings, he extracted a paper, which he held up proudly for me to see. "I got a ninety percent, and it's all thanks to you!" He looked so pleased with himself; I couldn't help but smile as well.

"That's brilliant, Alfred."

"Ah, good, you're both here," The door to Mr. Belschmidt's office flew open and hit the wall with a bang. The albino sat at his desk, legs propped up on a small pile of English textbooks.

"You were out here the entire time?" I spat, feeling my face redden and my resolve to be mature draining away with it. "I've been standing here for a good ten minutes Belschmidt!"

"Blah blah, you sound like e Tunte," he groaned, tossing a copy of The Great Gatsby at my head. Just as I got ready to tell him what he should really do with his damned book, Alfred smacked his test down on the advisor's desk.

"Bellman, know me!" He grinned, pointing to the bright red ninety circled at the top of his paper. I thought Belschmidt's eyes were on the verge of popping out of their sockets.

"Mein Gott…you can't keep copying from that Coocoo kid, he's too close to der Lehrer and you're gonna get caught. Then what happens to my Fuβball trophy, eh?" Alfred made a face, obviously confused.

"Dude, first of all, I don't play foosball. I didn't even know we had a foosball table at this school! But we don't even have a varsity foosball team. I'd totally be captain though. Anyway, I didn't copy! Heroes don't do that sneaky shit. Artie helped me study last night, and it totally clicked! He's like, so helpful!" He shot me the biggest smile he could manage, and despite my irritation, I found myself smiling back.

Mr. Belschmidt shrugged, nodding slowly in approval. "Hmph, impressive. Considering that your fairy boy's a major asshole," my eyes shot daggers at him. "You seem to be doing well working with him. Keep it up." Alfred smiled triumphantly, sitting down at one of the chairs in front of the advisor's desk. I remained standing out of sheer defiance, although my lack of physical activity was taking its toll and I desperately longed to sit down too.

"Why did you call me down here? Mr. Vargas said it was urgent."

Belschmidt assessed me calmly, his scarlet eyes for once taking on the appearance of his stricter (and definitely more polite) brother. "It's simple, really," He said, glancing over at Alfred, who was still enamored with his calculus test. "I called you both here today because I have a job to do. And that job is called counseling."

I gawked, trying to process Mr. Belschmidt's words. "I'm sorry," I spoke slowly, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. "I don't quite understand what you mean. I've been perfectly fine, albeit my slight annoyance caused by my…charming academic advisor. And if you're trying to give me counsel, why the hell did you invite this git?"

"Because it involves the both of you."


	5. Chapter 5: Erica's Rhapsody

**Author's note: I'm kind of sorry, but not really. See, before I began writing this, I kept telling myself "This is gonna be a romcom!". However, it would appear that my imagination has other plans for it. So I'd like to take this time to introduce a new plot. The part of the story that I've already written fits in just fine, but of course, it won't be getting nearly as lovey dovey as I had originally planned. It's partially Jess' fault (thank you!).**

Erica's Rhapsody

_Where am I going with this? Is Start Again doomed to become yet another spin off tale of the famed "Inception?" A story within a story within a story? I have no clue, but perhaps, to find our common ground, we should stop and recap what we know with certainty. _

_1. __Alice Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones are our main players (1P)._

_2. __Their existence depends on that of the other's._

_3. __The time-jumper, Belschmidt, knows much more than he pretends to, and works on no side._

_4. __The puppet master with the German accent is the God Particle._

_5. __The interweaving pasts of each and every player (including 2P) connect in some way._

_6. __One misstep in either of our realities could bring about the destruction of the world as we know it._

_We know these six facts, and these alone, yet we on SIDE 1 have absolutely no handle on them. Foolishly, I jumped into this project believing that by recording my experiences and choices from the moment I became aware of Start's existence, that I could somehow change the dreadful fate awaiting my world because of the destructive nature of this experiement. I am now ninety-two years old. Alfred and I shall soon be lost forever to the abyss, feeling ourselves drifting closer and closer to the void with every passing day. How naïve I was, to think that a silly journal could make any difference at all. I shall be frank with you, reader: I cannot tell you what Gilbert Belschmidt revealed to Alfred and I all those years ago, for my memory, though vivid with the terror that in our absence gripped our world, cannot transcend timelines. It would take much too long to properly explain the situation in its' entirety, however, it is vital for you to realize that Belschmidt holds no physical form in my version of reality, as Alfred and I hold none in yours. 'How is this possible?' you may wonder; well, I haven't got much time to explain. Accept it for your own sake. If I stay here much longer, they'll find me._

_Alice Kirkland_

-END-TRANSMITION-END-

Everything kind of stopped, at that moment. My stomach dropped to the floor as I tried to process the new, however vague information I'd just received. Alice? 2P? God Particle? ALICE?! In the full eighteen years I'd lived on this Earth, never had I felt so utterly bewildered as I did at this moment. Granted, Gilbert Belschmidt had said some quack-worthy things to people with higher status in the past, but this? This wasn't just some silly jab or insensitive remark. This was much too elaborate for him.

"Before you speak," Mr. Belschmidt spoke in a low whisper, the once genuinely mischievous grin now a mask plastered across his face like that of a poorly crafted marionette. "Be aware that my office is bugged. Just installed this morning."

"Dude…" My equally lost charge spoke for the first time since entering the office. "We need to talk about this. Like, really need to talk."

For a moment, a strange emotion—fear?—flashed in the older man's cold, albinic eyes, but Mr. Belschmidt only smiled. "Let's take a walk, jah?"

* * *

"I trust you two, dummkopfs that you are aside, are familiar with the American Revolutionary War?" Alfred and I both nodded, deafly. The three of us, Alfred, Mr. Belschmidt, and I settled underneath an old white oak tree, a few miles off campus. Georgetown, though a relatively small school, conversely had few good locations in which private conversations could actually be held. Since students roamed all over Bethesda after classes, it was far from unreasonable to travel over city lines for a private discussion, especially this one.

"Recent events, including but not limited to the World Wars I and II, the Korean Conflict, the Vietnam War, the War on Terror; have generated a number of explosive debates over whether the United States' rapid expansion over the last two hundred plus years after ceding from the British Empire played a role in the extreme aggression shown by them toward other countries, leaders, or ideologies that don't line up with their democratic ideal. Yes, it sounds strange to me too, but that's where these arguments come in.

"In order to silence their opponents, a group was formed under the alias AGISAI by scientists and historians from around the world. These members came from many different backgrounds, but were united by their belief that had the American Revolution either never taken place or had fallen through all together, that America's aggression and pursuit of wars in the sake of 'democracy' would decrease significantly, or be eliminated altogether. Together, the oligarchy of AGISAI created a program to test that hypothesis, an experiment known as S.T.A.R.R.T., or Project Start Again. The goal of Project Start Again was simple: to recreate in a semi controlled environment the circumstances in which the revolution took place, and analyze the relationship between the American Colonies and Great Britain, as well as the colonies' relationships with the rest of the world over time. Are you following me so far?"

I tried to nod, but honestly, he lost me at 'oligarchy'. Alfred raised his hand, as if we were in class listening to a lecture. "What the hell does this have to do with us?"

Mr. Belschmidt scowled, plucking Alfred's signature cowlick in response. "I wasn't finished yet, mein Gott… would it kill you to listen for a damned second?" He continued as Alfred rubbed his head, pouting. "Anyway, since they didn't have a TARDIS or some time turner shit, AGISAI decided to compile a collection of cultural stereotypes, personality traits, historical accounts from both sides of the conflict to create two distinct personalities and memories representing America and the British Empire. These were inserted into the minds—no, Alfred, I don't know how, they just were—of two adolescents with no prior relationship with one another. These two subjects are the control group, otherwise known as ' Player 1', or 1Ps. The experimental personality types were created using a program called Scare T.A.C.T.C.S., which took copies of the 1P personality types and inverted them in order to make the perfect alternate reality. Two more adolescent subjects had these ST memories implanted in their minds, and are referred to as 'Player 2' or 2Ps. That's about all I've got." The advisor leaned back against the tree, staring off into the distance at a yellow finch that resembled the canary in his office. Alfred was the first to make the connection.

"So what you're saying…you mean that Artie and I…are we the subjects?"

"Hah, maybe working with Kirkland is helping after all," Belschmidt nodded slowly, his gaze falling on the two of us. "Yes, you and Arthur," he smirked at my name, "are 1Ps. At least I think you are. Really, I should know, but just because I am the time jumper doesn't mean I absolutely need to know all the details of this project. My only job is to make sure the trials run smoothly without a hitch. That being said, this is my reason for needing to counsel you." He stood suddenly, pointing directly at me. "Your entire life is a lie."

"I beg your pardon!" I couldn't believe it. Any of it! If what he was saying were true, and I was in fact a 1P or 2P subject in this so called S.T.A.R.R.T. experiment…it would mean that my memories of Alfred, my childhood, _everything _was artificial. I stared at my hands, unable to process the amount of information impressed upon me in such a short amount of time. "But what about our parents? Our families? They're definitely real!"

Then Alfred spoke. He had been uncharacteristically silent during the whole exchange, but I had forgotten his presence completely until that point. The boy, usually jovial and overflowing with commentary was now lost for words. "Yeah…they're real people, but…they aren't our actual families, are they."

Belschmidt nodded. I gasped. No, no no no, this wasn't real. "You're lying!" I cried, suddenly unable to control my emotions. "You're a dirty lying pig, Belschmidt! I don't know how you got this git to believe you, but you won't fool me! There are pictures," I choked back frustrated sobs. "Pictures of my birth, of my brothers, pictures of my first day of primary school! You fucking liar!" I was practically screaming. Anything to debunk his ridiculous story. I turned on Alfred. "And you! How the bloody hell can you just sit there and take his horse shit like it's the bloody Bible? You're just gonna let him talk shit to you like that?" I spat. I noticed Alfred cringe at my harsh words, but I didn't care, I didn't care about anyone, anything, anymore. "You must be more of an imbecile than I thought you were! Fuck you both!"

Ignoring Alfred's cries, I tore out of there. I had no idea where I was going; I just knew I had to run. There were people watching me, pulling their children out of my way as I sprinted through the park, but I didn't care. Lies! Traitors! How could they! I didn't understand it, nor did I stop running. I didn't stop until I found myself surrounded by the forest on every side, and allowed myself to collapse into a gasping puddle of tears, wondering just who the hell I really was.

**Yes, it just got real. Real confusing. But I promise, it all makes sense in my head. Happy Birthday Erica, this chapter is for you.**


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